


Mutations of Ice and Fire

by MannixMind



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, Game of Thrones (TV), X-Men (Movieverse), X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: Adoption, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - X-Men Fusion, Angst, F/M, Past Child Abuse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-20
Updated: 2016-12-12
Packaged: 2018-07-25 15:59:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 14,271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7538938
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MannixMind/pseuds/MannixMind
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After a mutant testing law goes into effect Ned and Catelyn Stark begin adopting abandoned mutant children.  They couldn't have any of their own, and after Lyanna, well... it just seemed right.  For Cat, it was about creating a family, their family, but for Ned it quickly grew to be more than that.  She put her foot down after the fifth, and for a time things seemed alright.  They threw their energy into building the school, into raising the kids, into each other.</p><p>But then Ned got the call, and he acted without her.  She thought she'd always resent the dark-haired usurper for that, for driving a wedge between them.  </p><p>But she didn't realize he'd be the only one who could bring Arya back.</p><p>...or, the X-Men AU that I know none of you asked for.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So obviously this is a bit of a crack idea, so go with it or don't go with it, I just couldn't get the thought out of my head for a few weeks and figured I might as well run with it. Just a word of caution my X-Men knowledge is limited, and my desire to stick to X-Men canon is exactly zero. People will get mutations when I want them to, they'll have the kind of mutations I think fit best with GoT characters, and so on. 
> 
> Also, even though its crack, its going to be a bit dark at times so be prepared for that.

Ned

 

It started with one.  Shortly after the law allowing the genetic testing went into effect.  Cat had learned about her polycystic ovaries only a three months before, and his sister’s death was still fresh for both of them.  It had just seemed right.

“Maybe is a blessing, in its own way.  We could help some of them.  The children who are like us.”

The first one was a boy, ruddy complexion and eyes that stayed a pure ice blue long after he reached nine months.  His parents had gotten the test done in utero, and even though his father had been too disgusted at the idea of raising a mutant to keep the child his mom had held fast and borne the boy to term.  They were grateful to her for that at least, for giving them Robb. Adopting him had been the highest point in both their lives to that point, and, for a moment their world had felt complete.  Cat’s face has shone with happiness as she held the infant, the worry that was too often there vacating her eyes. She looked content.  She looked like a mother.

But a year had passed and she began to mourn the loss of a babe as a toddler emerged, rushing into the world of wobbly fat legs.  So he’d proposed a second.  Why not? They were more than well off, two trust fund children of robber barons who’d found each other in a moment of clarity as their “abnormalities” had begun to manifest.  They had Winterfell, and the investments tucked away in mutual funds managed everywhere from New York to Tokyo.  He worked.  If anyone could support a second child it was them.

And that’s how they’d found Sansa, another newborn fresh from her mother’s arms, given up for the mutated gene that set her apart, that set _them_ apart.  Her eyes were a deeper blue than Robbs, a cornflower to his ice, but gods she was a beauty in Catelyn’s arms. 

The next one they hadn’t planned.  It had been an emergency call, from his connection at the mutant adoption agency they’d gotten the first two through.  Attempted infanticide, really ugly stuff.  The child had survived though, and when Cat saw those grey eyes staring up at her, so like his, well, neither of them had the heart to say no.  That’s how they’d gotten Arya, still bruised but defiant for her six months, challenging them with every clenching of her tiny fist. 

Seeing her, and the scars already weaving their way across her tiny body, had changed something in him.  This wasn’t just about them now, about he and Cat making their perfect family.  It was about all of these children, about their _kind_ surviving in a world that didn’t want them.  The kids were all too young to even know how their mutations would manifest, and yet each one of them had been given up at birth, or worse.  There were thousands more like them, and here they sat, living in his twenty-four bedroom estate, feeling generous for having taken in three. 

He talked Cat into two more, both boys, over the next three years.  She loved both, really and truly loved them, though perhaps not with the passion she’d felt for Robb and Sansa.  But when they’d signed the papers on Rickon she’d drawn her line in the sand.

“He’s the last one, Ned.  I love them all, truly I do, even if Arya strains my patience from time to time.  But I can’t do more than this.  I just don’t have it in me to love more than five.  Please.  Let’s be done now.  Let’s be a family now, and give these kids all the love we have to give.”

So he’d agreed and for a time, it had been alright.  They made the plans for the school together, converted Winterfell into a haven together, began to take on students from the surrounding counties.  Gifted students.  Mutant students.

And then the call had come.  The contact from the adoption agency, the same one who’d talked him into Arya’s adoption, with another emergency situation.

“I told you Barristan, it’s not that I don’t want to shelter more children, but Cat insisted after Rickon…”

“I know Ned. And I wouldn’t call unless it was a special case, honestly I wouldn’t.” 

“They’re all special cases Barristan.”

“Not like this one, Ned.  This one, he’s…”

“I shouldn’t even be taking this call, Barristan no matter what he is—“

“He’s Lyanna’s Ned.  He’s hers.  That’s why I had to call you.”

He froze, not sure what to say, not sure how to silence the thrumming of his heart, which was pulsing through his body so loudly he thought he might be deafened by the sound.

Lyanna.  His sister.  His mutation had been shame enough for his family, shame enough to have him partitioned off and sent to the upstate, far from Manhattan society and the prying eyes of gossip columnists.  And his was a tame mutation. How offensive could the power to heal possibly be? Sure he couldn’t play sports with the other boys like he used to, people would notice if a scraped knee disappeared before the game even ended, but really he could pass.  For his parents though, it was a mutation nonetheless, and it had earned him a semi-permanent state of banishment. 

That is, until Lyanna’s incident.

 _“Pheromones.  That’s what it is, it’s a pheromone mutation nothing more, nothing less,”_ the doctor had explained to their parents.  “ _Once she’s through puberty things should right themselves.”_

That was one way of seeing it, seeing the mutation that had caused the newspapers to declare his sister the “Helen of Tribeca,” that had caused grown men to break out in brawls as she walked past, to abandon their wives and children in order to seek the favor of the fifteen year old school girl taking the train to class. Still, the doctor may have been right, maybe it would have settled as she got older, learned to control it, but Lyanna, his carefree, defiant Lyanna, hadn’t made it that far.  She’d been kidnapped out of her bedroom by one of the most notorious mutants on the planet just a month shy of her sixteenth birthday.  Her kidnap alone had spurred a whole bevvy of anti-mutant legislation, legislation which had led to his adoptive children’s abandonment.  Free testing for the gene for every mother admitted to an American hospital.  Gods what a nightmare. 

And yet, all the political posturing, all the zero tolerance rhetoric, hadn’t been enough to save her in the end.  Her body had been left on the steps of St. Patrick’s Cathedral, less than a block from Rockafellar Center, the pain of birth still creasing her young face.  No word of the child.

Until now.

“You’re sure.”

“Quite sure, we blood test them all, after all.  Legally, I should… I should report it but I figured if I could get a hold of you you’d prefer to be able to keep it quiet.  Within the family, if you could.”

“No of course, thank you Barristan.”

“The thing is Ned, its not an easy case.  He’s a nice enough kid, a bit roughed up from foster care, but polite and appreciative as they come.”

“So, what’s the problem?  Has he manifested early?”

“No… no not yet.  He's only seven, after all.  But Ned, well, you know what the theory always was about mutants mating with other mutants.  It does get stronger, get stronger with the generations.  He’s a class four, Ned.  I can’t ask you to take him without making sure you understand, especially not with—“

“Arya is out daughter and we love her, Barristan.”

“I know, and you’re good people for that, but when she does come of age, just please don’t expect it to be as delicate as it is with Robb and Sansa.  It will be different with her Ned…”

“I know.  Cat’s knows.  We’re ready, Barristan, you need not worry.”

“Mmm. Yes well.  He’ll not be as, disruptive as she will, but Ned he’s got real power, Lyanna’s boy.  The kind of power that makes people uneasy. I couldn’t leave him in foster care to discover that on his own.  I need to find a home for him, and if its not with you, we’ll there’s people who’ll take pity on him just for your sister’s sake…”

“No.  No, Barristan we can’t have him growing up with that over his head.  Gods know.”

“I don’t know that I’ll be able to place him otherwise.  Like I said, this is a courtesy call.  I just didn’t want you to find out on the news.”

“No.  No, Barristan.  That can’t happen.”

“Ned, I’ve got no choice—“

“I’ll take him.”

“Ned, this isn’t a spare couch we’re talking about here, this is a child.”

“I know what we’re talking about, Barristan.  I said I’ll take him.  And I meant it.  There’s no way I could let my sister’s son go to any home but my own anyway.  The thought is inconceivable.  I’ll take him.”

Cat would understand, he reasoned with himself.  When he told her, she’d know he’d done right.

“What’s his name?”

Things were always easier when you personalized them.  When you put a name to them. He’d bring her around, sure thing.

“Jon.  His name is Jon.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Just to give everyone a sense of ages/ time line of this chapter (which happens 10 years after the last one) this is the age breakdown of everyone here:
> 
> Theon: 18  
> Jon and Robb: 17  
> Sansa: 16  
> Micah: 16  
> Arya: 15  
> Bran: 14  
> Rickon: 12 
> 
> Let me know what you think!

_Ten Years Later_  

 

Arya

 

“Micah you promised.”

Her friend sighed, running his fingers through his shaggy blonde hair in mock frustration. 

“It didn’t work the last two times we tried Arya, what makes you think it will this time.”

“Mikken says he got them fixed this time,”

“He indulges you too much you know.”

Arya gave the older boy a pointed look.  Mikken wasn’t the only one at Stark’s School for Gifted Youngsters who let her have her way.  By most accounts Micah was the worst at telling her no, except for maybe Jon, but she wouldn’t tell him that now, not while she was trying to get something out of him.

“Please Micah…” She drew out the last syllable of his name until he shook his head in acquiescence. 

“Fine, but over the lake this time.  Your mom will kick me out of school if I drop you over land one more time."

Her face split in a brilliant grin and she shot up. 

“I’ll get my swimsuit on.  Meet me down by the water in ten!”

She ran off to get dressed before he could change his mind.  Micah really was a world class friend.  He’d come to the school two years ago with horrific looking bone spurs sticking out of his back.  They looked like they’d been cut at the end – sawed off by someone in an attempt to deny the mutation that was clearly manifesting in the young boy.  People had given him a wide birth – everyone but Arya that is, who didn’t give a damn that his back looked like it was growing horns, and had just been glad to have another unmanifested person near her age to spend time with.  She’d been thirteen at the time, so not so old that it was bizarre that her powers hadn't come in yet, but when Bran’s telepathy and telekinesis had come in a few months earlier she’d been consumed for with bitter jealousy.  So her and Micah were fast friends, and when his wings had grown back he hadn’t abandoned her, despite the respect he got from the whole school, and the longing looks cast his way by girls his own age.  He was still there for her, just like Jon.

She strapped the glider pack that Mikken had designed for her across her back over her black one piece and ran down to the water.  Micah was already there, shirtless with board shorts on his blonde hair shining in the early summer sun.  He really was attractive, objectively speaking, but despite the teasing comments they both got from their peers Arya knew there’d never be anything between them.  She’d figured that one out about a year ago through a game of kill fuck marry they’d been playing during a video game marathon.

_“Sansa, Robb, and Theon.”_ She’d said it as a joke, having run out of actual combinations of people a long time ago.

_“Marry Robb,”_

_“You’d make a great ice queen,”_

_“Shut it.”_   He’d replied sounding angry.  That wasn’t like him, to snap at her, and she had looked at him in surprise, cocking her head to the side as if asking what was up.  He had sighed and paused the game, still not looking at her.

_“Fuck… Theon.”_

_“Seriously?”_

_“Yeah… seriously.”_

His voice had been tense, as if he were prepared for her to reject him on the spot. As if he thought she’d kick him out of her room in disgust. She'd paused for a moment, trying to decide the best way to respond to the bombshell he'd just dropped.  She'd never been particularly sensitive, but she needed him to know that she was more than alright with him being attracted to whoever he damn well wanted.  So after a second, she'd responded. 

_“You sure you wouldn’t rather fuck Robb?  He’s quite fit, you know.  Even I can see it, and he’s my brother.  Plus marriage to Theon would never be boring.”_

Micah had laughed and ruffled her hair playfully but she hadn’t missed the relief and gratitude in his eyes.  It had just been another thing to draw them closer, which is why when his eyes widened taking the sight of her in her bathing suit in, she knew it wasn’t about lust.  She usually stuck to baggy clothes, because in tight clothes it was impossible to hide the truth. 

Puberty had come and gone, and her powers still hadn’t manifested. 

“I don’t want to hear it, Micah.  We’re here to fly.  That’s all.”

He nodded, understanding that the last thing she wanted was pity from him and he beckoned her over. 

“Alright you know the drill.  Tell me when and I’ll release you.  Don’t set off that monstrosity Mikken’s built you until you fall two yards at least.  We’re going up at least 100 so there’s time for me to catch you if need be.”

She nodded and stepped in front of him, waiting.  Sighing one more time at the prospect of the dangerous thing they were about to try (again) he wound his arms around her – pulling her up so that her back was pressed against his bare chest before spreading his wings and launching them into the air.  Just like the other times they’d flown like this her arm went up involuntarily and grasped onto his shoulder, giving her some semblance of control and stability as he flew them higher and higher.  She’d never admit it, but flying in this position, facing away from him, holding her legs in place through nothing but ab strength and shear will power, always scared her more than when he scooped her up in his arms in a carrying position.  But it was necessary if she wanted to fly on her own. And she desperately, desperately did. 

At the thought a jolt of energy ran through her, almost seeming to come from Micah, and she felt it, deep in her core.   Holding her legs in place felt easier all of a sudden, as if her bones had gotten instantly lighter, and she felt as if her vision had sharpened, making it easier to make out the people sunning themselves on the dock. 

Behind her Micah gasped and his wings faltered, causing them to drop several feet in the air.

“Are you ok?”  She called to him over the wind, concerned as she felt his heart beginning to race in his chest. 

“Something’s…wrong… we have to…land.”  His speech came out labored, each word sounding like a gasp for air.  They began to circle lower, his wings giving out every few beats, causing them to fall jerkily. 

“Micah! What’s wrong?  Drop me if you need to, I’ll swim to shore.”

His wings beat a few times laboriously.  His arms were shaking now, straining with the effort of holding her against him. 

“I’m sorry Ar… I have to let you go… we’re low enough now… you’ll be ok… just dive…”

And then she was falling, plummeting towards the water of the lake.  She had enough time to move her body into a clean dive and came up quickly, shaking the water out of her eyes and looking up towards Micah in alarm.

What the hell was happening?

She saw him, his wings still beating fitfully trying to get back to shore.  The people on the dock were all standing now, looking up at him in distress.  Micah never struggled to fly, it was always effortless, always perfectly controlled.  But not today. With one final beat of his wings, his head lolled forward and he came crashing back down to earth, landing on the grass beyond the dock with a sickening crunch.

“Micah!” She screamed, launching herself through the water and swimming as fast as she could towards the dock.  She’d always been a good swimmer, but she was amazed at how her body cut through the water, feeling lighter, stronger and more dynamic than it ever had.  What the fuck was going on?

She reached the dock in record time, and Theon was there, offering a hand to pull her out of the water, his usually mocking green eyes wide in shock and fear. 

“Are you alright?  We saw him drop you.  He never drops you, not unless you ask him to, and it never looks like that.  What happ—“

He stopped speaking as soon as she grabbed his hand, an she felt another jolt of energy roll through her, feeling different this time, humming through her like nervous energy.

“What the fuck was that!  What the… what’s with your hair?” 

Something was not right.  The people left on the dock were all staring at her as Theon jerked his hand away from her.  Twenty yards away, a group of people were gathered around Micah, who looked like an angel who’d just been cast out of heaven.  He wasn’t moving.  She needed to see him, but Theon was in her way looking down at her warily. 

“I need to see Micah…”

“Arya you need to go inside you’re manifesting.”  She’d never heard Theon sound this serious.  He’d been one of their first students at the school, arriving just after his tenth birthday, looking scared and rejected. If Jon’s adoption hadn’t been so disastrous Theon would have been her sixth sibling, and as it was he was more brother than friend.  But she’d never seen him like this, and she couldn’t deal with it now, she had to see Micah.  The energy that had been thrumming through her exploded in a jolt, and with a crack the world around her disappeared. 

A second later she was standing on the grass, next to Robb and Jon as they bent over Micah’s bloody and bruised body.  Robb looked up, clearing expecting to see Theon, who was the only teleporter in the school, and his eyes widened in surprise.

“Ar…Arya?”

She ignored him, bending down to touch Micah’s chest.  She could feel his heart beat, faint but there, and her shoulders sagged with relief.  From the tips of her fingers she felt it again, that jolt of energy, fainter this time.  Micah cried out, and she removed her hands instantly, dread washing over her.

She looked at Robb and Jon who were both staring at her.

“Your eyes—“ Robb said drawing back involuntarily as she turned towards him. 

She had no idea what she looked like, but a sick feeling had built in her stomach. The energy.  She was taking their energy, Micah’s and Theon's.  She could feel it in her, both of them, their energies distinct and different from each other coursing through her veins.   She needed to get out of there.  To leave before she hurt anyone else.

She stood up backing away, feeling her legs tense with energy, ready to break into a run.  Jon stood, reaching for her.

“Arya wait—“

But she wanted out of there. With another crack the world disappeared, Jon’s fingers less than an inch from her bare arm. And then she was back in her room, standing in front of her full length mirror, breathing heavily like she’d just run a marathon.

Gods is this what she gets for hoping and wishing for her mutation to manifest no matter what the cost?  Was this her punishment, to be a freak that sucked the life from people? 

She looked in the mirror and froze in surprise – transfixed by her own reflection.  Her hair, though it was still wet from the lake, was decidedly not _hers._   Instead of her normal ash brown, dirty blond locks covered her head.  As she watched the blond began to fade, darkening by the second.  But that wasn’t the weirdest part, the strangest thing was her eyes.  Her normal hazel was gone.  Instead, sky blue irises stared back at her. She knew those eyes.  They were Micah’s eyes.  Even as she stared they shifted, but not back to her own hazel.  No, instead the eyes that stared back at her were a light seafoam green.  Theon.  She’d not only taken their powers she’d taken a part of them, had transformed to _look_ like them.  Even her normally alabaster skin had changed, sporting some of Micah’s sun-kissed glow.  There was nothing else for it.  She grabbed her backpack and began stuffing it with clothes, toiletries and her entire stockpile of cash.  Outside her bedroom door she heard footsteps thundering up the stairs.

“Arya?”  Jon’s voice rang out from the hall. Poor Jon.  He’d be left to deal with her mother on his own.  She hated that for him, but at least he’d be safe.  No one could be safe with her.

She’d locked the door, but after knocking twice, he hit it with his shoulder impatiently and the lock gave way.  He so rarely made a show of the strength he had that sometimes she forgot it even existed. 

“Arya wait, we need to talk,” he said, seeing the bag flung over her shoulder. 

“There’s nothing to talk about Jon.  I’m a danger to everyone.  You saw what I just did to Micah.”

“You’ll learn to control it, Ar.  Please let’s just calm down.”

“I’m sorry Jon.” And then, summoning the last of the energy she’d taken from Theon, she let the world around her disappear with another, loud, crack.


	3. Chapter 3

Jon

 

For a second he just stood there, staring into the void where his Arya had been, willing her to reappear.  The seconds dragged on though, and the room remained empty and silent, crackling with the energy of her exit. 

“Fuck… fuuccck.  Theon!’

He charged back down the stairs, calling for Greyjoy at the top of his lungs.  They’d never been tight, but in the moment none of that mattered. 

_Crack!_ Theon appeared in the hallway, barely a meter in front of Jon, making him stop short to have to stop from running into him.

“You called?”

“I need you to take me.  We need to go after her.”

“Sure.  Where?”

“I don’t know where.”

“You can’t just follow her?”

“…not if I don’t know where she’s gone… doesn’t work that way.”

“Jon! Arya! What’s going on?” Robb’s voice came from the staircase as he thundered up.

“She’s not here,” Theon called as Robb emerged onto the landing.  Robb looked at Jon expectantly.

“Where’d she go?”

“I don’t know,” Jon ground out, annoyed.  They were wasting time. 

“Have you called her?”

Duh.  Leave it to Robb to point out the obvious.  Jon took out his phone and dialed at once, not bothering to answer.  Straight to voicemail.  Shit.  Knowing that it was probably pointless, but needing to do something anyway, he sent her a quick text.

_J: Text me when you get this.  We’re all worried.  No one’s mad._

“How’s Micah?” He asked not looking up at Robb.  Arya would want to know.  She clearly thought she was to blame for whatever happened.

“Banged up pretty bad, but dad will set him right.  Right wing’s shattered in a few places, though.  Even with dad, it’ll be a while before he’s airborne again.”

_J: Micah’s alright.  Dad’s seeing to him._

He sent the last text then looked up, his eyes fixing on Theon.  It was weird seeing Theon’s green eyes staring back at him from Arya’s face.  _Uncanny_.  He didn’t like it.

“What happened?  When she touched you?”

“I don’t know man… It was like, part of me just got drained.  Like she took it from me, you know?  It was weird, like I could feel my powers and my I don’t know, identity leaving me, just from holding her hand,” he looked up at Jon, more earnest and less sarcastic than Jon had seen him in a long time.  This wasn’t fun Theon, teleporting into the girls locker room on a dare, or coming up behind him and Robb while they were studying for midterms and transporting them, with no explanation, into the middle of Octoberfest for a “study break.”

“Teleporting in here when you called was the hardest shift I’ve had in years.  Felt like I was thirteen again, still learning how to steer.”

“And her hair and eyes,” Robb said, piecing the information together, “She looked like Micah, did you see her Jon?”

“Yeah.  I saw.”

“Was she still like that when she was in here?”

“Not completely.  The hair was fading and her eyes were… well, they looked like Theon’s.”

“Hot.” Theon said, waggling his eyebrows appreciatively.

Ok maybe serious Theon was more than they could hope for.  Jon shot him an annoyed look.

“What?  Mimicry is the greatest form of flattery after all.”

“Do you think that that’s what her powers are?  She’s able to take everyone’s mutation?  And everyone’s, I don’t know, features?  Appearance?”

“I don’t know.  I don’t even know if that’s possible.”

“We need to ask dad.  We need to talk to him and mom right now.”  Robb said, definitively, turning to go back down the hall.

“Catelyn’s going to flip.  We should give her a few minutes, give her time to come back before we get your mom involved.”  Jon said quietly.  He still remembered his first time manifesting, _really manifesting_ not just the healing, increased senses and strength.  Those had come in overtime, and he’s mostly kept them hidden, but the first time he lost himself, the first time the _animal_ in him had taken over… well he’d never been more grateful for Catelyn Stark’s committed efforts to ignore him than he was on that night.

He was shaken from reliving the memory though, at the feeling of a familiar twinge in his mind.

_Dad wants you all.  In the infirmary.  Bring Arya – she’s blocking me out and I can’t reach her._

Bran.  He usually didn’t get in their heads like that, but since the accident and under the circumstances Jon couldn’t blame him.

Robb and Theon looked up, having gotten the same message. 

“Looks like it’ll be sooner rather than later then.” Theon said, and as a group they marched unhappily down the stairs.  There was no way this was going to go well.

***

“I just don’t understand how you could just let her leave.” Cat’s voice raged at him, intent to be angry at someone and thrilled to be able to aim some of it at Jon.  This was rich, coming from the woman who’d tried and failed to get Theon to stop taking the boys to the red light district in Amsterdam every time anyone turned eighteen. Who was she to talk about keeping a teleporter in place?

“She teleported mom.  There was nothing Jon or anyone else could do.”  Robb said, coming to his defense like he had for the last decade of their lives.

“There must have been something—“

“Cat.  Please.  Not now,” their father said wearily, rubbing a hand across his brow in frustration.  He’d just finished healing Micah, who was resting silently in the bed beside them, his eyes screwed shut.  Ned Stark looked weaker and older than Jon had ever seen him.  It made things worse on Catelyn, that of all the children she’d wanted to adopt, the only one of them with a power even close to her husband’s, or hers for that matter, was Jon.  Jon, the unwanted adoptee, the bastard of the bunch, at least in her eyes.  Even after all these years she still refused to adopt him.  He supposed it didn’t matter anymore, anyway.

While Jon could heal himself, instantly, constantly, so much so that he never got sick, hardly even got drunk unless he was _really_ trying, Ned’s power was more specific.  He could manipulate the human body, stitching together wounds without string, setting bones by merely running his hands over a broken limb.  Jon knew, they all knew, it could work the other way, that with on grip of your thigh he could shatter the femur in your leg and rip apart the joint in your knee but they’d never, _never_ seen him do it.  They knew he had once, in the days following his sister Lyanna’s death, but that had been before any of them were adopted.  The father they knew was a healer, who had the best possible mutation for someone attempting to set up a school for mutant children learning to get their powers in check. 

“And you think, she can take the powers of other mutants?” he said, taking in what they were saying.

“Yeah.  The powers and the uh… appearance?  I don’t know if there’s more yet but that’s what we could tell.”  Jon said, fixing his eyes on his father.  He’d know what to do.  He always did.

On the bed beside them Micah stirred.

“Memories…”

“What’s that?” Ned turned to his patient, leaning in.

“I think… I think she can take memories. I had, awful memories…”

Beside him, Theon shifted uncomfortably.

“Did you have memories?” Robb asked, turning to Theon questioningly.

“I didn’t… I didn’t realize it was related. I just thought it was a flashback…” he said quietly, not looking at them.  Jon shuddered at the thought of the memories he might’ve imparted to Arya.  He’d shared a room with Theon for enough years when they were younger to know that the things that made him cry out at night were relived events, not nightmarish fantasies. 

Ned rested his head against his palms again, thinking. 

“We have to find her.”

“Then let me look.”  Bran said, making the point for the fifth time since they sat down.  Beside him, Catelyn stiffened.

Bran hadn’t used Cerebro since the accident.  He’d been allowed to run free with the machine up to that point, searching the world for new students, with the welcome encouragement of their father.  It had been a way to bind them together, a way to realize how far from alone they were in the world, to connect with old friends. 

And that’s how he’d come to be alone in the room, alone and searching through the millions of mutants in the world, when something, someone, had felt his presence and objected.  He’d been thrown from where he stood with his helmet on, thrown so forcefully, that when he’d come down on the railing Catelyn had insisted they install on the platform his spine had severed.  Ned’s powers had done a lot, done enough to mend the shattered vertebrae and reconnect the spinal cord, but something still hadn’t worked, and all the best doctors in the country hadn’t been able to tell them why Bran was still confined to a wheelchair.  It was the great tragedy of Ned Stark’s life that for all the wounds he’d healed his powers hadn’t let him fix his son, just as they’d been unable to give his wife back the ovaries she’d need to bear a child to term.

“I won’t go looking through the world – not like I did.  I’ll just look for Arya.  Only Arya.  And you can all be there.  Please, dad.  Let me do this.”

“Absolutely not, Brandon.  Your sister will just have to come to her senses and come home on her own.  We cannot risk, after what happened last time—“

“Cat, she’s not just gone on a lark.  She took things with her, she’s worried about hurting the students, worried about hurting us. We need to find her, before she gets hurt, before she hurts someone and it gets out in the news.  You know what that could mean for her, we don’t have time to spare.”

“Eddard Stark if you think I’m going to let you put our son back in that room after what happened—“

“No one’s putting me back in the room mom, Jesus! I _want_ to go back in the room I _want_ to help.”

“You’re too young to know what you want, Bran.”

Through his shorts Jon felt his phone vibrate.  He whipped it out, bringing the conversation in front of him to an immediate end.

_A: I’m fine.  Tell mom and dad not to worry._

_J: We’re all worried Ar. Where. Are. You._

_A: It doesn’t matter.  Jon you don’t understand.  I’m dangerous.  I hurt Micah._

_J: We’re all dangerous.  Arya where are you?_

_J: Will you at least tell me who your with?_

_A: No One._

He froze.  It was probably just her auto correct capitalizing the words.  But she’d used the nickname for so long to describe him… could she mean? 

Everyone was looking at him expectantly, and he shook himself.

“She says she’s ok.  Won’t tell me where she is though.  Says she’s on her own.”

The argument resumed around him, but he turned back to his phone, his heart racing.  He knew what he had to do, where he had to check, but if he was right…

There was no way he could bring his dad and Catelyn along. If he was right, they’d kill the guy.  There was only one thing for it.

_J: Theon._

_T: ?_

_J: I’ve got a place now.  But it can only be us._

_T: NO WAY – Robb will kill me if we leave without him._

_J: Theon please we can’t all go charging in.  The rents can’t know._

_T: ?????_

_J: Just. Please._

_T: Robb too.  He’s freaking already, and he’s gotten better at secrets then he used to be._

_J: Fine. But its got to be now._

_T: Right now?  From here?_

_J: If my dad calms down it’ll be the first place he thinks of._

_T: Wait… are you saying…_

_J: Now, Theon._

_T: Where is he these days anyway?_

_J: Greenpoint._

_T: Brooklyn?_

_J: Yea_

_T: Fucking figures. What a douche.  Alright.  But this shitshow’s on you when we get back._

And then with an almost casual lean, Theon put a hand on his and Robb’s shoulders and they disappeared with a crack, the sound of Catlyn Stark’s curses following them into the void.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> let me know what you think ;-)


	4. Chapter 4

Arya

  


She’d come there without thinking, to the grimy street outside his hideout.  She hadn’t been there before, only knew about it because he’d told her to stop by if she was ever in the city.  He’d had a falling out with her parents almost two years ago now, a falling out that was due in no small part to his interest in her, and he’d told her if she ever decided she wanted to see a different side of the mutant world than the one her parents had shown her to look him up here.  At the time she’d thought she would never take him up on it, or at least not until college, until tempers had cooled a bit. And yet here she was, staring at the rundown looking warehouse skeptically.

White & Black House Tile Co.  was written across the entrance in faded lettering, looking as if the place had been abandoned sometime in the seventies.  He’d been clear though, about the address and the name on the outside, so reluctantly, she went up to the front door and turned the rusty handle.  It gave way easier than she’d thought it would, and she swung the door open, stepping into the semi-darkness.

“A girl should not be walking into strange places on her own.” 

The warning came from a small woman in plane clothing that Arya hadn’t seen. She didn't seem intimidating, she was small and mousy-haired, with a stick thin frame, but something about her set off warning bells in Arya's head.  

“I’m looking for someone. He told me to meet him here.”

“No One is here,” the woman said, and Arya’s eyes narrowed, realizing that the woman was playing word games with her.  She was clearly a mutant, whoever she was. Arya could see the faint buzz of purple energy swirling around her right hand as the woman came closer, glowing ominously seeming to threaten casually that violence was only a few seconds away.  Arya wondered what her power was, and decided that for the moment at least, she was better off not knowing. Instead she straightened, putting on her best, most commanding face, and stared the woman down.

“Well take me to him then.”

Evidently she’d passed the test, because the woman’s hand stopped buzzing with energy, and she smiled insincerely. 

“If that’s what a girl would like.  Follow me.”

The strange woman led her through rows of boxes, piled high and looking as if they hadn’t been moved in years.  What the hell was this place?

Finally after a few minutes of walking they rounded a corner and she saw him.  He was seated in a makeshift room that seemed to function as a joint office and bedroom nestled in the center of the boxes, wearing the same face she’d seen him wear at their last encounter. 

“Jaqen.” 

“A girl came looking for No One,” her guide said, a note of daring in her voice, as if she took issue with Arya’s presumption.

“A girl is welcome to look,” he said firmly, and the woman, whoever she was, seemed to take it as a sign she was dismissed.

“I… I didn’t know where else to come.”

“A girl was right to seek answers in the House of White and Black.”

He’d always been a little weird, Jaqen, but here his strangeness seemed amplified by their eerie surroundings.

“My powers manifested.”

“A man is glad.  A girl was always destined for great things.”

“They’re not great.  They’re horrible.  I hurt people.”

He closed the space between them in two quick steps, and she almost moved back involuntarily.  He’d never been one for personal space, Jaqen, especially not with her.  Her parents hadn’t liked it in the least, almost as much as they’d hated his amoral musings on the inevitable clash between mutants and man, and they especially hadn’t liked it when they’d seen that it was always worse when it came to her.  Still, she thought her dad was wrong to think that it was something sexual… in all her interactions with Jaqen she’d never once gotten the sense that he wanted her in that way.  Still, it was weird.

“Show me,” he commanded.

“I’ll hurt you.”

“A man is used to pain.”

She didn’t want to, but she knew they’d get nowhere without showing him and so tentatively, she reached out a hand and placed her fingertips lightly onto his arm.  She felt the jolt again, less abrupt this time, and felt the energy begin to flow from him into her.  She was struck by how differently it felt than Theon and Micah’s energy had, seeming to slither through her veins.  Blue streaks began to spread from where her fingertips connected with his arm, coiling around her arm before disappearing into the pale peach of her skin.  She looked up at Jaqen, to see if he understood, and he stared back at her with amber eyes, his red hair growing darker and sleeker before her eyes.  His skin flickered, looking almost as if scales that she couldn’t see were all flipping over at once, and in a split second he was back in his blue form, a form she’d only seen twice before.  She let go of his arm and stepped back, noticing that as she did so the rest of the blue on her arm faded away.  He was staring at her, panting slightly. 

“A girl is... extraordinary.”

 “It’s awful.”

“Can a girl use the powers she takes?”

“I don’t know.  I think it depends.”

He gestured at a mirror, propped up on the boxes behind him, standing next to a rack of oddly assorted clothes.

“A girl should see what she’s capable of.”

Arya stepped in front of the mirror, and trying not to shiver at the sight of the amber eyes staring back at her from her own face.  He saw her looking and came up behind her, resting a hand on the covered part of her shoulder, flashing his own eyes in matching amber.

"A girl is beautiful as No One."

She shivered.  Maybe she'd been wrong about the nature of his obsession with her after all. Still, she was curious if she could use his powers, could shift into anyone, and while she was there she might as well see what she could do.

But before she could, the warehouse erupted in the sound of hundreds of boxes crashing down around them.

Her family must have found her after all.

Jon

 

“Listen we’re not here to fight, we’re just looking for our sister.”  Robb said reasonably to the woman who was watching them warily, her right hand blazing with the glow of a purple knife she seemed to have conjured out of pure energy. 

“A girl is not allowed to leave the House of White and Black. No One may leave, but a girl is not No One.”

“Does she hear herself?” Theon asked incredulously, looking sideways at them. 

“Look, we don’t want to make this into a thing, but we will.  We’re not leaving here without her.” Robb said, more forcefully this time, “So you might as well—“

He took a step forward and the woman's arm shot out, the dagger aimed directly at him.  Jon jerked Robb back, harder than he’d meant to, and the light dagger missed Robb’s torso, singeing a hole in his tee-shirt instead.

“What the fuck—“ Theon yelled, enraged. With a crack he disappeared, reappearing behind the woman and then disappearing with her again, reappearing in the rafters and throwing her, bodily, into a stack of boxes.  She swung herself around in the air, hitting the boxes and sending them crashing to the ground before launching herself in Robb’s direction.  He hit her with a blast of ice, creating a wall in front of him and Jon, and she crashed into it, her knife wielding hand connecting with the ice with a sickening crack. Still, she was far from beat, and as they watched the dagger began to cut through the ice, shattering the wall that Robb had constructed.  In one move Jon launched himself at her as the wall shattered, catching her around the middle and throwing her into another wall of boxes. As he did so though, her knife caught him in the back, pulling him with her into the mess of boxes.  The blade, or whatever it was, was unlike anything he’d ever experienced before.  Rather than the sharp stab of pain he had expected to feel when it entered his shoulder, he felt a jolt of pain run through his body as if every nerve exploded in pain at the same time.  He roared in pain, and the woman, seeing his agony, twisted the knife in his shoulder, her eyes seeming to revel in the pain she was causing.  He let out another roar more of fury this time, and without thinking he struck, his claws extending and sinking into her knife arm, yanking her forcefully off of him, and throwing her to the ground.

“Stay down.” His voice came out as a growl, and she whimpered, grasping her bleeding arm, all signs of the knife that had been there a moment ago, gone.

“Dude, what the fuck was that?” Theon said, appearing next to him with a crack.

“Not the time, Theon,” Robb said, showing up on his other side, and placing a cooling hand on the spot where the knife had gone into his shoulder.  

Robb had known about the claws, he’d been the only one around when they’d first come out of Jon’s knuckles, but he’d managed to keep it from everyone else for the last three years.  No more.

“Let’s go,” Jon said gruffly and turned without further discussion to walk through the maze of boxes.

“Did you know he had fucking claws?”

“Theon, _later_.”

“I just don’t understand how it’s never come up.”

Jon took off in a run, impatient to get to Arya and unwilling to hear Theon’s thoughts on his less savory powers just yet.  Behind him, Robb and Theon began to jog too, following his lead through the maze of boxes, until they saw the yellow light of a lamp shining against a wall of boxes, telling them that there was something there.

They rounded a corner to see a makeshift room, complete with a low set bed, a desk and chair, a few racks of clothes and a mirror.  Standing in front of them was Jaqen H’agar, their old World Religions teacher and the only man Jon had ever seen his father truly lose his temper on.  Behind him, shrinking into the corner by the mirror and looking as if she’d like to flee again, was Arya.

He thought he was alright, even though that day he’d been abandoned by his sister, blamed by his step mom, stabbed by some crazy woman, and forced to reveal his weirdest mutation to the boy who’d taken every opportunity to mock him for nearly a decade.  But when Arya’s eyes caught his, glowing in the same unnatural amber as their former instructor, he lost it.  

He walked straight to her, slashing Jaqen furiously as he put out an arm to stop him.  Their usually cunning teacher hadn’t been expecting it – not having known about Jon’s claws until that instant, and he fell back in shock, giving Theon the opportunity he needed to transport him to god knows where.  At the sight of his claws Arya’s eyes had widened, but he didn’t slow, didn’t give her an opportunity to run.  Instead he reached up his hands, his claws retracting as they did so, and cupped her face, laying his bare palms fully against her skin.

A cool, draining sensation ran through him, making him feel weaker, but not necessarily pained.  At the contact she gasped, her eyes flying wide as his energy poured into her.

“Jon stop, you’ll hurt yourself.”

“No I won’t.”

He might, actually, but he didn’t care.  He wasn’t moving his hands until she understood, until she got that whatever pain she could cause it wasn’t enough to scare him off.  He felt the animal part of him growl internally in determination, sending another shot of adrenaline coursing through his veins.  The extra energy was enough to numb the pain to a minor twinge, but it was… pushing him over the edge.  He never let his animal side take this much control. He clenched his jaw in concentration, struggling not against the pain, but to keep his more human side from giving into his baser nature.  As the burst of animal energy ripped through him, Arya gasped and screwed her eyes shut, seemingly overcome, breathing in deeply.  He wondered self-consciously if she could tell the difference, if she knew what it was he was giving her, but still he didn’t remove his hands.  When she opened her eyes again they blazed silver, mirroring his own, and shining with feral energy.  Oh yes.  She knew.

“Ok...” She said, her voice as husky and untamed as his had been a second ago.  She drew her hands up, and removed his softly, not breaking eye contact until she released them and let them fall by his side.  As she did, the connection between them broke, and his human side jolted back into control, trying to shake the animalistic urges still echoing through his mind.  Gods, that was…

“Jon you ok?” Robb’s voice broke through the fog of his mind and he straightened, looking up at his brother. 

“Fine. I’m fine.  It doesn’t hurt me Ar, you don’t have to worry.”

She looked at him curiously, her eyes, still silver, gazing at him questioningly, as if she was trying to figure out how to ask him about what she’d just felt.  Instead she nodded slowly.

“Ok.”

Robb looked relieved.  “Will you come back with us then?  Look I know it’s a lot, when it starts, it was a lot on all of us, believe me, but we’ll figure out what to do. And Mom and Bran can help you control it, you’ll see.  It’ll be alright Ar.”

She nodded, still not breaking eye contact with Jon, her eyes a storm of unspoken thoughts. 

 “Good! Let’s get out of this shit show! Theon!”

“Yeah dude.”

“Is our ex-prof still among the living?”

“Yep.  But he’s in Coney Island at the moment, thinking about what he’s done at the top of the ferris wheel.”

“Sounds more than fair, should give him some time to think about why messing with kids is fucked up.”

“Guys it wasn’t like that,” Arya began, but Robb shot her such a rare cold look that she fell silent.

“I don’t know what you _think_ it was like, Ar.  But if I ever catch you and Jaqen H’agar alone together in a room with a bed again I’m not stopping until his frozen fucking solid.  You understand?”

She nodded, glaring at Robb but unwilling to start that fight.

“Good.  Then you can come up with what to tell mom and dad when we get back.  Theon?”

And with a crack they were back in the school, and Arya’s now grey eyes widened in panic as the sounds of footsteps thundered down the stairs to meet them. It was almost enough of a bind for Jon to feel pity for her. Almost.

But at the moment he had his own things he needed to sort out.  

Like how the hell to silence the feral thoughts that Arya had set lose in his mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! So I had a request in the comments from the last chapter to give a quick overview of the powers that everyone has in the notes. I know this is a bit of a cop out, but I'm not ready (able) to do that quite yet for most of the characters whose powers haven't been revealed yet because I keep changing things as I'm writing (I went through like three versions of the Waif before I settled on making her Psylocke). But here's a clarification of what I have so far if people are confused: 
> 
> Eddard Stark: Healing  
> Robb Stark: ice manipulation (Iceman)  
> Arya Stark: Power absorption (Rogue)  
> Bran Stark: Telekinesis (Professor Xavier)  
> Jon Snow: Strength, Healing factor, Heightened Senses, Berserker/Animalistic side (Wolverine)   
> Theon Greyjoy: Teleportation (Night Crawler)  
> Micah: Flight (Archangel)  
> Jaqen: Metamorphosis (Mystique)   
> Waif: Psychic Knife (but not all the other slew of powers because she's not worthy) (Psylocke)
> 
> Sansa, Catelyn should be coming out in the next chapter, and I've got a good sense but nothing's set in stone. So I'm open for suggestions (also suggestions for other characters as well because I'm having to do a good deal of X-Men research for this so anyone who's more well versed in the comics please be my guest). 
> 
> Thanks! MM


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long delay! Like with my other stories I lost my progress on this one when my computer crashed - just getting back into the swing of things now!

Arya

 

“Again!”

The slight growl in Jon’s voice was the only thing that told Arya they would need a break soon.  Practicing combatives against Jon was the opposite of tiring – every punch she landed, every kick that made its mark was like a bolt of pure adrenalin.  With all the others her mother was very strict – only one round with her gloves off, no matter how they said they were doing. 

_“Absolutely not.  The only reason I let you fight her with her gloves off at all is so she can learn to adapt to new mutations as a fight progresses.”_ She’d overheard her mom say to Robb when he and Theon had asked her to let them up it to two rounds.  _“You’ll never encounter another mutant like her, so there’s no need for you to learn how to resist it.”_

_“You can’t possibly know that!”_ Robb had said in exasperation but their mother’s rule had stayed.  Arya wasn’t sure if she was relieved or disappointed.  She hated thinking she was so dangerous that two three minute rounds exposed to her bare skin was too big a risk for even their Robb and Theon, but at the same time it’d been more than two months since she’d made someone faint – and she’d like to keep it that way.

So thank the Gods for Jon.  His healing powers meant that they could fight – _really fight_ – for round upon round. And they did.  Every day.  She’d always liked combatives, but now that it was the only way she could ever touch another person it had become something of an obsession for her.  She usually started with her one round against Theon or Robb or whoever else was in for the day.  They were both good – and had both adapted their fighting strategies to her mutation quiet admirably.  Robb still pulled his punches a bit – gentleman that he was – but Theon had no such qualms.  Recently he’d taken to teleporting them all over the grounds throughout the fight, pulling her into the nauseating nothingness of teleportation in the hopes of throwing her off, or simply flinging her into a freefall over the lake. But she’d taken his powers so often that she almost always had enough teleportation left to catch herself and land back in the gym.  A few weeks ago Theon had taped the whole thing on his GoPro. The video had been so dizzyingly impossible to follow that Sansa had started dry-heaving just from watching it.  She’d been pretty plastered at the time, but still.

But as epic as her fights with Theon were, Arya’s fights with Jon were what she lived for.  A shiver of excitement always ran down her spine while she was preparing for a fight against Jon – stripping off the gloves and long sleeve shirts she always had to wear – feeling the cold prickle of air on her bare arms and shoulders.  Who would’ve guessed a year ago that she’d get so much pleasure from being able to wear an athletic tank top?  That was just one of the many things she’d taken for granted that she’d lost since her mutation had manifested.  Normally tank tops were strictly off limits.  But with Jon none of the normal rules applied.

She glanced over at him, feeling the familiar flip in her stomach as she watched him down his water.  They were on their third round of the day, and he’d sweat so much that the grey tee-shirt he was wearing was clinging to every muscle of his torso.  His black curls were riotous as ever and his silver eyes were blazing with a feral energy that she’d come to know so well.

If there was any upside to her ridiculously inconvenient power it was that it had let her get to know Jon – the real Jon – better than she ever could have otherwise.  She wondered if this was how Bran felt all the time.  It wasn’t that she could read his thoughts or anything – but she could feel his energy every time their skin touched and that was a revelation all on its own.  She got that from everyone she touched – a fitful, hyperactive energy from Theon, a pulsing steadiness from Robb, a sun-like warmth from Micah – but with most people the energy had been predictable, a logical extension of their personalities. But Jon – Jon was so reserved, so bashful, so deferential, that the feral energy she got from him had shocked her.  And now she was practically addicted to it. 

The animalistic energy thrummed through her veins as she drained her own water bottle, sending jolts of warmth to all of her budding bruises, healing them instantly.  She was just about to tell Jon she was ready for round four when she felt the prick of Bran reaching out in the back of her brain. 

_New Student. Pretty powerful.  Not sure you’ll get on, but you should come meet her nonetheless._

“What’s up?” Jon asked, seeing the odd expression on her face. 

“New girl.”

“What is she?”

“Dunno. Bran said powerful, but didn’t give any specifics.”

“You wanna go see, or you want to finish up here?” Jon asked, keeping his voice as neutral as possible.  If she was being honest she did want to stay in the gym, but she knew that was a childish response, so instead she snatched up her gloves and reached out a hand to him.

“How about a quick look?”

He grinned and took her hand, giving her one last jolt of energy before they disappeared with a crack and reappeared in Winterfell School’s grand foyer.

Her parents were there, with Bran, Robb and a girl who had to be the new student.  Her mother started at the sound of their arrival, turning towards them with a look of exasperation that quickly transformed into anger.  Arya pulled her gloves on sheepishly and lowered her eyes so her mom might not notice their silvery glow.  Her mother still loved her – she knew that, even though it wasn’t always clear these days – but she seemed to take Arya’s growing resemblance to Jon as a personal insult.  She couldn’t help that her powers meant that she took on the features of people she’d recently touched and her and Jon had taken to spending so much time sparring together that her eyes almost always floated between grey and silver these days. 

Caitlyn’s eyes flicked over Arya’s bare upper arms, still exposed because she’d come in her workout tank, and in a quick flurry one of the throw blankets that had been on the couch had flown over and wrapped itself around her like an oversized poncho.  That was the other thing – despite her loving words and good intentions Arya still felt like her mom saw her first and foremost as a walking talking liability. 

She tried to shove aside her embarrassment, and turned pointedly to look at the new comer.  She was pale – almost as pale as Jon – with a shock of red hair that Arya would bet her college savings was dyed.  She was dressed in a burgundy peasant top and jeans, giving her a new age hippie look that made Arya instantly skeptical about her ability to chill.  Gods know they didn’t need another vegetarian at the school.  Though the girl had given Arya a quizzical look when the blanket had wrapped itself around her, after an appraising up and down of Arya the new girl’s eyes had fell, and stayed on Jon.  Arya felt an instant waive of dislike.

_What powers does she have?_ She said reaching out to Bran with the tiny trace of his telepathy that she still had from earlier that week.

_Definitely pyrokinesis.  Possibly something else as well._

She quirked an eyebrow at him and after a second he continued. 

_She thinks she can read the future._

_Is that even possible?_

_In some limited ways? Definitely.  In the way she thinks she can see the future?  I’m not sure.  She sure thinks it’s real though._

_Well what does she see in the future then?_   Arya asked her lip quirking slightly in amusement.

_Well right now, she seems to be seeing a future with Jon in her bed, but I can’t tell if she thinks that’s a vision or knows it’s a fantasy._

That wiped the smile right off Arya’s face.

_Hit a nerve I see,_ Bran’s voice echoed in amusement in her mind before she used his own power to block him out.  He stuck his tongue out at her from across the foyer and Catelyn gave them both a warning look.

“Good of you to join us in welcoming our guest.  Arya, meet Melisandre.”

She held out a gloved hand to the girl, who took it with a slight smirk. Another flood of dislike filled her as the girl turned and gave Jon a 1000 watt smile, holding out her hand to him and letting her hand linger in his for longer than was necessary.

“And you are?”

“Jon… Jon Snow.” He mumbled awkwardly, turning his face slightly away as she stepped towards him. Her smile in anything widened.  She clearly thought he was dazzled by her, but Arya had too much of Jon’s energy in her not to know that his awkwardness was a reaction to the stronger than average pheromones she was putting off. She was feeling them too – but if anything they made her more territorial and less inclined to like the girl.  Deciding that manners were overrated, she disappeared with a crack landing back in her bedroom and flinging away the blanket in disgust.

She didn’t know what the new girl’s game was, but if she made one shady move towards any of the men in her life – the gloves were coming off.


	6. Chapter 6

The red woman was ruining everything.

Everywhere Arya turned she was there – inserting herself into her classes, her friends, her family. When she’d first arrived in October Arya hadn’t liked how she gravitated towards Jon, Robb and Theon, but she’d let Micah’s advice give her some comfort. 

“ _She’s new, and they’re both cool and friendly. They’re just being cordial. She’ll make her own friends soon. Just let it go.”_

But she hadn’t. She didn’t seem interested in making other friends – at least not girl friends. Instead she spent her time in the gym as often as she could – sometimes training but mostly watching or doing yoga.

Ugh. Her and her fucking yoga. She acted like it was some kind of religious ritual – said it triggered her ability to see the future. Arya still wasn’t sure if that was even a thing, sure Melisandre had said some cryptic stuff that seemed later like predictions, but everything she said was so cryptic all the time that you couldn’t really know what she was talking about.

No, Arya was pretty sure the only point to the Yoga was to get the boys to watch her as she stretched in her various sport bra and legging combos.

And watch they did. Even Jon.

It was on her second spar of the day with Jon the week before Christmas when she finally lost it. They’d moved beyond just sparring rounds in mid-November and now often did their combatives trainings as simulated scenarios. This sim was supposed to be a launched attack while she was already on the ground, so she lay against the mats, waiting for him to launch his attack. He approached her cautiously – hyper aware of her legs pulled up protectively to her chest – knowing that she was more than willing to send him sprawling with a well-placed kick. She saw the glint of exhilaration in his eye, the spark that told her his animalistic side was taking over the reins, and then…

Then she heard the small sigh coming from the mat behind her - the suggestive hitch of Melisandre’s breath that told her that the damned girl must be pulling off some particularly demanding pose. It wasn’t much - but it was enough. Jon’s eyes, which had been fixed on her so intently a second ago, flew up at the sound, searching for its source.

She knew his animalistic side well enough from all the contact they’d shared to know he couldn’t really help it, but it didn’t matter. Her leg shot out with more force than necessary, sweeping his legs out from under him. Exasperation and the energy she’d taken from him earlier made her movements lightning quick as she launched herself off the mat and over his body. With one swift movement she straddled him, pinning him down despite her lighter weight and forcing his back flat against the mat.

Jon’s eyes widened in surprise and his hip came up to buck her off instinctively, as his hands began to move up to pull her off. Still fueled by frustration, she flexed her hips, grinding down and pressing him back against the mat while her bare hands caught his wrists and pinned them above his head. His torso was much longer than hers, so the maneuver forced her to bend low, bringing her face only inches away from his as his energy began to flow into her. She saw his pupils dilate as her mutation began to take hold, and he let out a low growl in warning, but she still wasn’t ready for the force that began to run through her veins.

It was lust. Pure and unadulterated pulsing through her body and setting every nerve she had on fire. The force of it made her gasp.  She squeezed her legs together involuntarily as the sensations began to rush down to her core. Jon let out another growl as he felt her legs tighten around his waist and his eyes seemed to become more feral.

"Arya... be careful." He said, his voice coming out husky and low.

His warning snapped her back to reality and she flew to her feet, releasing his wrists, and breathing hard. Spasms of lust were still shooting through her. Jon was laid out on his back staring up at her. She was hyper aware of the flush spreading across her chest, and of the moisture pooling between her legs. One glimpse at Jon, and the heat spreading down his neck, and she knew he saw it too.

Her eyes skittered away from him in embarrassment and caught on the full length mirrors paneling the wall in front of her. Her reflection was looking more like Jon than usual, her ponytail curling in mahogany waves and her eyes flashing silver out of her now alibaster and blush complexioned face.

Usually she liked feeling marked by their interactions but at the moment it just made her feel even more exposed.

Then her eyes locked on Melisandre, who was sitting behind them, balanced on her tailbone and holding her legs up in a spread eagle, her eyes closed in faux meditation.

_This_ _lust_ _is_ _for_ _her_.

The though made her burn even more but this time with anger. Beyond Melisandre Robb and Theon, who had been putting away their boxing equipment, paused and looked over to see why the sparring had stopped. Her eyes flew back down to Jon who still had not moved but was giving her a wary almost guarded look, and she decided she was not fucking dealing with improvising an explanation. She gave him one quick look of derision, and disappeared.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short but necessary to set up where I'm going next, and pretty fun to write! Let me know what you think!


	7. Chapter 7

Jon

 

Jon just lay there for a second after she disappeared, breathing deeply to catch his breath and blushing scarlet at the feel of fifteen pairs of eyes on him. He couldn't get up yet even if he wanted to, not with his cock still half hard and pressing against his gym shorts.

She knew. She always seemed to tell when the animal part of him began to take over. But this was different. The way she'd looked at him...

Gods she knew and she was fucking disgusted with him.

He managed to sit up, pulling up his knees and leaning his elbows against them as Robb came over, concern etched across his face.

"You ok?"

"Yeah... just winded is all."

"You guys train too hard, we talked about this. You act like it doesn't impact you but she runs you ragged sometimes."

Oh she was making him ragged alright, but not in the way Robb was thinking.

"--I mean it's clearly too much dude. She's taken so much from you that she looks like you all the time now! And I've noticed that she heals during most of her spars with me. It's gotta be taking a toll."

Robb's ice blue eyes were troubled but innocent. He really thought Jon was just hurt.

"Yeah. You're probably right," he muttered, looking down at the mat so Robb didn't catch the lie in his eyes. His voice came out as a growl. The animal was still in control.

There was a loud crack and Theon appeared on the may stretched out next to him.

"What's wrong Snow White, you get your ass kicked again?"

Jon shot him a dirty look and then immediately regretted it. Theon has always been good at reading people - and he, unlike Robb, _did_ assume that everything had an underlying sexual meaning. He raised his eyebrows at Jon curiously, his eyes suddenly alert.

"I'll be more careful. We'll keep it to two rounds in the future. 'M gonna go run it off. Just a little sore now is all."

"Well take it easy. Mom's been worried one of you might get hurt."

Jon snorted derisively. Somewhere deep inside him the decent part of him screamed at him to let it go. But that part wasn't in charge right now.

Robb's eyebrows shot up in surprise. Catelyn's hatred of Jon was a subject they steadfastly avoided. He did Robb the favor of pretending there wasn't open hostility so often that he must've started actually believing it actually wasn't there.

Robb flushed slightly like he always did when he was about to lie but pushed forward defending his mom anyway.

"She _has_ been worried--"

"About Arya maybe. That woman never cared about me getting hurt before I had the ability to heal and she's damn sure not worried about me getting hurt now. I'll be fine."

He pushed off the mat and was out the door before Robb could get in another word. He had to run off this energy. He could feel his claws itching to come out, pushing at the skin between his knuckles as his adrenaline ticked up.

He set off at a run winding down through the gardens and onto the track that ran through the woods surrounding Winterfell. It was two and a half miles in circumference. Two laps   
and he should be back to normal...

_CRACK!_

His claws shot out as he wheeled around to see Theon leaning against a tree looking at him with bemused interest.

"Still can't believe you kept those hidden from me for five years. With how twitchy you are? I'd be impressed if I wasn't so offended."

"What do you want Theon?"

"Just curious about what got you so riled up that your actually speaking truths about Catelyn Stark.  Completely deserved - but shocking nonetheless."

"It's none of your fucking business," he said between gritted teeth as his claws retracted back into his hands. Theon watched with interest but didn't comment after a moment he looked up, adopted a conciliatory smile and took a step towards him.

"Where is the love Snow? I know I tease you a bit--"

"You've tormented me constantly. For over a decade."

"--but that doesn't mean that at the end of the day, weren't not still friends. I'm here to help."

"I don't need help. I'm just sore is all."

"Sore huh? Seemed more like you were _stiff_ to me."

He froze, his eyes going wide. It had been bad enough that Arya might have noticed but Theon... gods in heaven. He took a few steps back itching to run from the situation. Theon must've seen the flight in his eyes because he reached out a hand and grabbed him around the wrist. The growl that tore was so animalistic, and his eyes must have narrowed in such a dangerous looking way that Theon took an actual step back for a moment before catching himself and standing firm looking Jon straight in his eyes. 

He had balls, that Greyjoy kid. You had to give him that. 

"I shouldn't have joked Jon I'm sorry. No one else noticed don't worry."

"You can't know that. I mean Gods if you noticed..."

"Mmm. Well it's my area of expertise."

"What is, being a sick animalistic bastard with a hard on for your sister?"

The words tore from his lips before he could stop himself. He was shouting now, but getting called out by Theon was shredding what little grip on sanity he had left. The truth, the truth that he'd been stifling since gods know when just seemed to be pouring out of him tonight. After a moment he glanced back at Theon expecting to see disgust and condemnation etched across his so-frequently-haughty features. But his face was neutral, his eyes still locked on Jon's.

"No..." Theon said slowly, imbuing each syllable with meaning, "Hiding lust from Robb."

His confession momentarily stunned Jon into silence. Theon had been out as pan since they were 14, and made no effort at hiding his lust for girls _or_ boys. In fact, making a show of his lust for beautiful strangers was kind of his thing. It was always lust though - no attachment, not even a look back. Which meant he clearly wasn't talking about strangers... and probably wasn't talking about lust either.

"How long?"

"Only about a decade or so." He said, shrugging and not meeting Jon's eyes.

"Have you ever said--"

"No. Are you kidding? That kid thinks he's straight as an arrow."

"Thinks?"

"Never mind. It's probably just me projecting. Besides, we're not talking about me. We're talking about you."

"And how utterly fucked in the head I am."

"Oh will you relax. She's your half sister by adoption, you're not twins."

"That doesn't mean it'd ever be ok."

Theon gave him a small smile that almost looked empathetic.

"I know. And that does suck. So you've just got to work through it."

This was the closest by far he and Theon had every come to talking about something even remotely personal. Theon had always been close with Robb, and though they'd been at complete odds when they were kids things had been better between them over the last year or so. He supposed they were friends, in a too-much-history-to-be-otherwise kind of way. And even though Theon had been whiny about the fact that Jon hadn't told him about the claws after their Arya recovery expedition, he hadn't told a soul about Jon's hidden mutation.

Maybe that made them friends after all.  And gods did he need a friend right now.

He sighed, running his hands through his hair and looking Theon square in the face.

"I don't know what to do."

"You have to stop sparring with her. Don't look at me like that, I know how important it is to her. But you have to stop. I know better than almost anyone else how her powers work. I know - and you know - that she's getting more than healing powers and curly hair from you. Don't pretend like you haven't felt the memories. I bet that's part of what today's freak out was about."

He nodded, too mortified by the memory of it to put into words just yet.

"Exactly. You can't keep touching without her figuring you out eventually. And when she does you're not going to know what the fuck to do. You need to get space. And - you need to distract yourself."

Gods help him. Here was the Theon he knew.

"Distract myself?"

"I'm dead fucking serious. You live like a monk Snow, don't think I haven't noticed. It's not the most effective strategy for shaking a crush."

"And has living like a slut helped you shake your crush?" He said, lashing out unnecessarily before he could hep himself.

"No." Theon said looking slightly annoyed "But it's sure helped me avoid suspicion."

He has no argument there so he just nodded.

"Thanks for the help. Honestly. I'm going to finish my run but I will take what you said to heart--"

"Nuh uh, Snow. Not yet. Do more than take it to heart. Next weekend. You, me, and Robb and Melisandre and her crew."

"...doing what?" He said, not liking the proposal already.

"Adult game night."

"We're not adults."

"That's what makes it fun. And speak for yourself I'm almost 19."

"I don't know..."

"Jon," he said in mock exasperation. "That girl is smoking hot. She's had a crush on you since she arrived at this school. What. More. Do. You. Want."

He sighed. He really had no desire at all to get to know Melisandre but since what he did have a desire to do was absolutely unacceptable he might as well give this a try.

"Fine. But if this goes to a shit, it's on you."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kind of a set up chapter but I thought it was necessary! Let me know what you think!


	8. Chapter 8

Arya

 

"Just come! Forget about them for a little bit Ar." Sansa begged her as she stood in her closet riffling through outfits.

Arya lay back on the bed with a heavy sigh. She had no idea how things had gotten to the point where she was actually considering saying yes to Sansa and going to Tommen's sixteenth birthday party at the Baratheon's ski house.

Robb had seen her and Jon's... altercation? Incident? Whatever it was... and had gone to their mother. Her mom had freaked out and had barred all sparring until she started having regular success in "control sessions" - her telepathy enhanced attempts at reigning in her powers.  She didn't mind the extra control sessions, even if they could be frustrating as hell, but the sparring ban was way too much.

So she'd done what she always did when her mom was being shitty - went to Jon to bitch about the injustice of it all and figure out a way around whatever rule it was. But when she'd knocked on his door, expecting to be let in to flop on his bed for a drawn out bitch sesh, he hadn't let her in. Instead he'd come to the door, blocking the way, looking down awkwardly.

" _Hey. Sorry I can't talk right now. I'm uh... trying to write a paper._ "

The excuse had hung lamely between them for a moment before she realized what he was doing. He was pushing her away. He didn't want her there.

" _Oh. That's cool I guess. I was just coming to tell you that we won't be sparring together anymore. My mom nixed sparring entirely until I get a handle on my powers._ "

His eyes flew to hers, full of the empathy and affection she was used to seeing from him, and for a second she had thought they were back to normal, that this new distance between them had been just her imagination. But then he'd looked down again, and the her stomach dropped with the cold weight of rejection once more.

" _Sorry about that. Let me know if things change. I'm sorry I just... I need to do this paper right now. I'll catch you later."_

" _Yeah ok. Later._ "

She'd turned and left, something which she was still kicking herself over. What she should have done it shoved the door open and demanded an explanation. She should've demanded he tell her what the fuck he was playing at acting so unconcerned. She should've hit him if only to get some goddamn reaction out of him.

But instead she'd walked back to her room feeling emptier than she'd ever felt in her entire life.

And so she'd thrown herself into the control sessions with Bran, trying with frustratingly limited success to control her powers. She was getting good - I mean really good - at using the powers she gained from others. But limiting her intake of energy remained a struggle.

" _It's all in your head Ar I can see it._ " Bran had said to her one night in frustration. The control sessions recently had been her, Bran, and Sansa, which was going surprisingly well. Sansa was the perfect persons to practice with because she could phase into intangibility if Arya's draining became too much for her. That was Sansa's power - being able to make things, including herself, intangible. So Arya would do the "focus exercises" that Bran and her mom had developed and hold hands with Sansa until the draining began, and then Sansa would slip into nothingness, avoiding the sting of her powers.

She was getting better, slowly, incrementally. She'd stop the energy from flowing into her, or slow it to a trickle, giving Sansa a small but pleasant buzzing sensation. And then something would happen. Someone would slam a door upstairs. One of their dogs wild bark. Someone would open the door and look in thinking it was where drama club was meeting. And her concentration would snap, and the powers would break through the mental barrier she built up.

Still it was something. She'd taken a lot less from Sansa in the last two weeks than she would've thought. The physical effects were hardly manifesting - her hair had a slight red glint to it now and again, and there was a little blue mixing in with the stormy grey that her eyes had become, but for the most part she looked the same. Well except she had grown an inch, but she'd never complain about that.

But those minor improvements did little to comfort her when things with Jon were still so fucked up. She was happy she'd gotten closer to Sansa, and was feeling better about her ability to move through the world without creating instant havoc everywhere she went. But bottom line was she was lonely. She missed the boys. She missed Jon.

But hell would freeze over before she'd tell him that. So instead she was here - seriously considering giving into her sisters pleas for a wingman.

The Baratheons. Her fathers most glamorous of friends. He and Robert Baratheon had been best friends in high school, both coming from the silver spoon world of the Upper East Side. They'd been inseparable, wrecking havoc. Which is how they'd ended up together, racing down Ocean Parkway the summer before their junior year on rented motorcycles. They'd been having the time of their lives - that is until Robert lost control and spun out across the narrow highway. His injuries had been horrific. They would've been life ending too, had her father not been there. Ned had run his hands gently over his friends bruised and broken body, and miraculously Robert's torn flesh had begun to stitch itself together. By the time the ambulance had arrived Robert was out of danger... and Ned was in it.

The police had taken him into custody, questioning him for hours about his powers, demanding demonstrations, and threatening to give him injuries of his own if he didn't show them what they wanted. His parents had sprung him eventually, bringing him home just long enough for him to pack his things before they shipped him off upstate and out of the range of prying eyes. That one act of heroism cost him many things - but Robert's friendship was never one of them. Although her uncle Robert could be ridiculous and inappropriate at times, he stayed fiercely loyal to her father.

That loyalty was one of the few things that allowed their school to exist in peace and safety. While anti-mutant sentiment kept spreading across the country, in New York at least they enjoyed some protections, protections that Robert Baratheon, now in his second term as governor, swore to uphold. No, they owed a lot to the Baratheons, but that still didn't mean Arya particularly liked them.

At least, not all of them.

She'd hated Geoffrey Baratheon since she'd broken his nose when she was seven years old. They hadn't seen each other in years - her mother having finally decided that it was better to appear rude by letting her go out when they visited than it was to put her and Geoffrey in the same place and invite conflict. It was an arrangement that worked just fine for her.

And now here she was actually considering going somewhere she knew he'd be.

Desperate times.

"Arya? Are you listening to me?"

She sighed again.

"I don't know Sansa events crowded with non-mutants, seems like a bad plan for me."

"But that's only because we haven't put into action my new brilliant strategy! You seem to be missing the genius of it. You can't touch people, I can make it so you don't touch people. We get to pretend to be normal for a day. Everyone's happy."

"I dunno--"

"Just try Ar. Please? Robb, Theon and Jon all said their busy with some Theon inspired nonsense, and Jayne is sick and I don't want to go alone. And you always used to like Tommen! He was half in love with you after you hit Geoff that one time..."

"That was because no one had ever stood up to him, and He'd been ruining Tommen's life for years."

"Oh don't be so dramatic. Just because you two have personalities that clash."

"I honestly don't know what you see in him."

"That's my business not yours. I'm not asking that you like him. You don't even have to talk to him. Just please, Arya! I would appreciate it forever."

She sighed one last time looking for any final excuse.

"I don't even have anything to wear..."

At that Sansa smiled and she knew she'd walked into a trap.

"I thought you'd say that..."

Forty minutes later she had to admit, Sansa had hit the nail on the head. Pulling out a box from her closet and babbling something about an early Christmas present, Sansa had handed her a brand new, sized to perfection, black jump suit. It had slim tailored pants, with a structured top that almost looked like a bustier. The bustier was covered by a thin layer of stripped mesh that continued past the bustier to cover her upper chest and form sleeves. The jumpsuit covered almost every inch of her skin - and managed to make her feel sexy at the same time. Sansa had fussed with her hair, so it now sat curled in an intentionally messy side bun. She'd even walked Arya through some basic make up instructions, and for the first time ever Arya was sporting lipstick and mascara.

It was a good look. And she did want to show it off.

Besides, she thought as she got into the passenger's seat of Sansa's coup, what's the worst that could happen?


End file.
